Skip to main content

Stardom Week - Part 5

This is Part Five of a Nine Part Series

All Wednesday I was a bunch of twisted nerves. Thankfully two important meetings got cancelled. I was not prepared for either and thanked God for getting me off the hook. The note had been sent to Mrs. H and now I had to wait on her response. Time flows with a dreamlike slowness when you are waiting for a denouement that you fear may be unpleasant. I thought about her reaction to my note and what her response might be. If only there was any way I could fast forward to the time I was at home in the evening with J and know that answer right now.

In the meanwhile, my friends had tapped into their individual networks to help me formulate my strategy as far as meeting with the teacher. They had given me ideas on opening lines, meeting agenda and closing notes. It ranged all the way from bitter, caustic and sarcastic to completely cold, professional and business like. There was a lot overwrought, hyper-anxious, over-protective mother between the two extremes. I felt grateful for these people who had come into my life within the last four or five years and now formed the warm, comforting envelope of friendship and support I needed to raise a child alone in a foreign country.

Some were immigrants like me even if not nearly as new. Others were able to trace their roots back to the Mayflower. Their families had heard my story and were rooting for me like people generally root for the victim and the underdog. In a way this whole episode was like a mirror being held up to middle America and the red state stereotype.

K, a white co-worker who grew up in New York said "This is clearly a case of a redneck teacher person who needs to be taught a lesson. When I told my husband his jaw dropped to the floor. My mom could not believe this stuff happens in this day and age." There was a lot of guilt, angst and anger in how the reflection was being viewed depending on the vantage point of the viewer. In the last three days I had been reminded that I lived in a place so backward that I should have seen this coming sooner than later. The same people were quick to point out that living in a bigger city was no guarantee that racism would not exist. It might afford me the strength that comes from numbers - it would not be one J against all of them.

Wednesday was the day J was supposed to share her favorite book with her class. As with the toy she had struggled to find the happy medium between a very Christmassy crowd pleaser and her "real" favorite book which currently happens to an illustrated Life of The Buddha. After much deliberation she picked a book that she had actually enjoyed a lot a year ago - Strega Nona. I knew better than to ask why The Buddha book would not be going to school.

For a month now, I have been bellyaching to my boss about one of our vendors and how they need to meet with our team in person so we can reach a common understanding of what ails our interface with them. My wish was granted on Wednesday.Their team had come to town from Chicago. I had K run my meeting because I was too disoriented to do so myself.

At around 2:30, while telling their "VP of Operations" that we preferred to identify all their system and process gaps at our end and drive the time lines for fixing them, my mind had started to wander dangerously. I was thinking how little people in little companies were given grandiose epithets to compensate for all manner of littleness and how by extension Mrs H could call herself COO of Kindergarten Room 3 - maybe she thought of herself in those terms. I was glad my boss had a conflict and could not be here for this meeting because he would have noticed how distracted I was. I don't recall any other time when I had been so distracted at work and all this over a kindergarten project.

Glancing at my watch, I knew J would be back home now and I wanted desperately to talk with her. In the background over the chaos in my head, I could hear the VP voice his many concerns about the approach I was suggesting but thankfully K and others in the room backed me strongly having gone through much greater pain for far longer than I have. He caved in by 3:00 and I could get out of the conference room to make the call home. The sound of "Yes, Mommy ?" when J answered the phone filled me with a rush of cold fear.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...